


Judging from the Outside In

by imnotaegon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I don’t really know what to say, Might be a story might be oneshot, No hate towards sex workers, Prostitution, Sansa is sorta just a prostitute, this is my first fic pls be gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotaegon/pseuds/imnotaegon
Summary: Sansa has had something that has happened that has forced her into this life. She doesn’t want to be here, she just wants to get home in time for him.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	Judging from the Outside In

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t think Sansa’s attitude towards her work is the same as other sex workers. Someone is no less of a person because of their profession. Sansa is uncomfortable in her situation, that is what the story is about. Please be gentle on me as the tag says this is my first fic. Please tell me what you think and if you want another part.

People really like to judge what they do not know. Judge people who they don’t know.

“Holy FUCKING FUCK you- you feel so good,” says the man that has paid, what he thinks is too much, for a girl he only knows as Alayne, to fuck him in a hotel room that he set up with her emoployer. “For a whore.”

His breath begins to quicken as he wrenches into her hard but he’s not the roughest a man has ever been with her, in one of these hotel beds. His blonde hairline has started to bead in sweat. He has a name too, he told her it when she was downstairs at the party offering her drinks that she wouldn’t accept. She could sort of remember something starting with an “H”. She tried to recall it, not that it truly mattered. Something pretentious, I believe. Something that only a posey woman would name the fat load her patrician husband shot into her. Alayne was only trying to play this guessing game to pass the time as she felt him grab at her breasts as though they were the last floatation devices in the Narrow Sea; practically clawing as though he was a bird of prey. The nails weren’t breaking into Alayne’s skin, yet she could tell that she would have marks all down her front for the next few hours. She gave up on the pointless game and looked up at the man fucking her, trying with all of his visible strength to make every penny worth it. She can’t tell by his angular face if this man hasn’t been fucked in months by his valium inebriated wife or if he always acts as though he’s a green boy because for some reason this Harty or Harrison, or whatever the name, started making these awful grunting noises. It reminded her of the man that fucked Forrest Gump’s mom. His constant honking and sound of his skin slapping her made her feel sick. The feeling of him in between her legs and his hand next to her head with the other hand curling around the backboard was all too much. She felt caged and his breath revolted her. She wanted to be done now or she knew she’d kick him off and scream. She tried contorting her expression and gave a few passable moans. Alayne was going to bring this transaction across the finish line and make it look like she was enjoying this man’s chod.

“They finish faster if you look like you are enjoying them,” was the first piece of advice she received when she took her position here. It came from a girl who had jet black hair just past her ears and the coldest eyes she’d ever seen, not just because of their dark blue pigmentation, but as though she had to take out a piece of her being every night to do this job. The conversation happened on Alayne’s first night, when all of the girls were getting ready for one of the hotel’s elaborate parties. Alayne would come to know this council as Mya. Mya and Myranda were the closest things to friends she found at the Gates of Moon Suites. A hotel owned for generations by the Arryn family who’s only surviving heir is a child, and under his guardian’s stewardship it has become the most ostentatious whorehouse to exist in the Vale. With Petyr Baelish being in charge of Arryn affairs, everything of course had to be ostentatious. 

The advice stuck deep in Alayne subconscious through her time here at the Gates. She could always just lie there, and sometimes she does, but for now she keeps up the eye contact and the moans, all while trying to ignore the comment of her being a whore. She tries matching his grunts and all the efforts begins to pay off, even though she feels nothing, she only ever wants to feel nothing. He then comes, all his muscles taunt, and starts making this puffing sound. Just as though he were the big bad wolf trying to blow the big house down. He falls on top of her, having lost his grip on the bed as he pumps his seed into her. Alayne goes completely still and numb, she can’t get used to that. It’s almost as though her clients want it to stick, and no matter how many clients she has, she can’t get used to that. She’s not worried about pregnancy or disease, she’s just downright repulsed. By Mr. H here, by the institution she works for, however none of that becomes close to how she’s repulsed by herself. 

Some women live for this kind of work, absolutely love it, including many of the girls here. There is nothing wrong with that. Your body is yours. This wasn’t her though, never could be. She was appalled by herself every time a man came because it was a step closer from becoming this character Alayne she has to make up, and a step farther from being herself. The girl who thought she’d be with the love of her life and never even think about the body of another person let alone actually having sex with one. A girl who wanted kids and a house not having to be someone who just moved out of her car.

She can’t breathe or move and she doesn’t want to. She stares up at the ceiling. It’s covered in dark grey background with little birds that are a lighter grey. Of course he put mockingjays up there to haunt us. She quietly lays there as Mr. H climbs off. She has done this enough times with these types of men. They don’t talk afterwards or even say “thank you” or a “goodbye”, not that she wants him too of course. So she knows she is safe to lay there as she hears him pick up the suit she stripped him of and head into the bathroom. The fan light of the hotel bathroom drums out the noise of her internal thoughts. e leaves. Of all nights it had to work this one?

He leaves with the door locking behind him with a girl who’s name isn’t Alayne, alone in the room, to wipe away her tears and clean herself up. Looking at the time she thinks, I can still make it. She begins to be quick about it, it’s only 11 o’clock on a Friday night, a short night. She hopes that she can make it home in time. So after her self enforced ten mandatory minutes of showering, that never can clean her enough, she puts on a fresh new pair of underwear and jeans, instead of the cocktail dress she was forced to wear to the party downstairs. Remembering to shoot a text Baelish, her “most utterly charming employer”, saying the man left for the night, so is she. She crams all her stuff in her duffle which is always locked in the closet of the rooms she is assigned to. And with that, she exits the suite, practically in a run for the elevator.

“Sansa,” a voice that mimics a dog's growl calls out. She has to stop herself and turn around to see the man that is always just down the hall. Sandor. He has a small air tight package in his hand for her. That’s his job. He stands outside of her room, out of all the girls rooms, with their nightly awaited package. This hallway served one purpose, to host him. He, and sometimes his brother, stand outside and listen for when the sounds of pleasure turn into a particular type of scream. One of pain. Sansa is entirely aware that Sandor is the only person, the only thing in this entire hotel, that keeps her safe. He stands in the hall as a safety net and he gives out Baelish’s little manila packages to every girl. But he also does something, for Sansa at least, that no one would expect of a man that towers at almost seven feet tall with a face half burned from childhood.

As he starts to hand over the package to her, but when her hand is on it he hesitates to let it go. Sansa looks directly up into his scarring eyes. She has somewhere to be, something to do but it’s not thinkable to run away from the Dog. She’s petrified, but not because she thinks he’ll hurt her or take the money, but scared of his words. His words have always hurt her, but again not because they are hateful but because she can’t believe them. And as he looks into her eyes and says, “You are worth more than what I’m giving you today little bird,” she visually recoils and looks away. She grips the money tighter and successfully takes it from his hands. He’s being nice but Sansa wasn’t going to stay here a second longer. She walked to the elevators and didn’t look back even when the Dog began to bark.  
…

After a couple hours with a client, a girl needs her comforts and Sansa grabs hers. Alayne isn’t Sansa but Sansa has to be Alayne because Alayne pays the rent and buys her the lemon sorbet, two Toblerone bars, a bottle of the cheapest summerwine the store carries, and some Lipton tea bags for her morning after. The shittest yet cheapest tea this side of Westeros, she thinks to herself before check out. Who can afford those kinds of expensive loose teas her mom would only pull out for her special six year old’s tea parties, when your main source of income is from sex work.

The store clerk looked at her like he was about to eat her. Sansa doesn’t understand why. She isn’t wearing the tight red dress with the plunging neckline with a mid thigh lacy black trim, that has practically become her uniform for the “parties” that Petyr Baelish has on the first floor of the hotel. All she is wearing is a black tank top with her leather jacket and jeans. But as the door opens to let in the cold air she could immediately tell why he’s staring. No bra, dumbass. She doesn’t wear one during her nights of “entertaining”. The men ruin them one way or another and she knows they are just going to be on the floor eventually. But she usually remembers to put hers back on when going out in public, because she always remember her mama saying she was naturally given.

Sansa just wanted to go home so badly. The shower she took in that hotel room, with all the speciality soaps and tinctures, has not rinsed her of how disgusting she feels. When he asked for the ID for the wine she almost decided to just leave the stuff there and run back to her car. The car she used to live inside of and is so old that the floor sags. I don’t want this stranger to know my name nor a photo of three years younger, angel-Sansa-Stark. Because even though she was lucky with her client tonight, having been picked up at the very beginning of the night and him staying for no more than a few hours, she still felt like someone laid a ton of bricks on her and needed that wine. The panic from when Mr. H was on top of her earlier and started to creep in again, so she showed him her card. Handed him the two 20 bills she carried in her clutch and grabbed her change and purchases and bolted out the door. Her face froze as she wrapped her arms around herself as she trudged through the cold to her Forest Green Bug. 

Sansa opened the door, and set her bagged items on the passengers side and she immediately started sobbing. Body wracking sobs because she no longer was holding anything back. The cashier wasn’t the problem, the client wasn’t the problem but the one she was going home to. The problem was the reason she was racing through the night. Her life of mistakes made it a problem. Sansa remembered that little girl who remembered learning how to ride a bike on the icy driveway of Winterfell. She remembered being the sister that would always try and practice her braids on her unwilling younger sister. Sansa remembered a life that was considered by all means, normal. She wanted a normal life. She wanted to come back to Winterfell each year for the holidays. To greet her mother and father, to kiss Robb on the cheek when he asked her if she was alright. Sansa wanted to drink into the wee hours with her sister, discuss a good book with Bran, or go on an early morning run with Rickon that hurt but still feel so good. Sansa wanted to go to college and bring home a nice boy to marry and have babies with. 

She expected that life. Her mother, her father, her family, her life prepared her for the normal. Her mother Catelyn taught her to bake, sew, and how to professionally argue with rigor. Her father taught her sales meant nothing without branding, that a business does not grow without the right mind behind it and a patient person to nurture it. She could be whatever she wanted, no limitations. She didn’t have to become a lawyer, an entrepreneur, or a stay out home mom like they became, but she certainly never had to be a person who had sold her body for cash. She never expected that this is what it had come to when she pissed off the wrong boy’s family. You never can expect what happened that night to have happened. She didn’t expect that she would be running farther and farther away from the reality she knew. 

The crying must stop, she said, coming back to the present day. You don’t get to cry. He’s probably waiting, and you already ruined enough. The thoughts kept circling in her mind. But the crying did stop, even when her eyes were still wet and her body still wracked like a petulant child. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled out onto the street. 

Time practically jumped in Sansa consciousness until she was turning another key. This time into the apartment building’s red door of her small studio she moved into. It was a shit place that rented by the week. But four walls that came with a toilet, a sink, a fridge, a tv, and a pullout bed. She struggled to pull the key out but eventually pulled the door open and stepped through to hear the lull of the TV. She put the keys in the bowl near the door, then slowly turned around to lean against the wall. And there he was. The beautiful man that had been expecting her, waiting in compliance. Turned to face her as he sat on their pull out couch bed. Probably having just woken up with the state his curls were in and him still covered in blankets. He was smiling at her. His smile just melts her insides, she knows he only smiles around her. Like it’s their own little secret, but she loves more because of that. There are no teeth to the smile but the boyhood smirk made her attempt to make one back. It was a broken though, pitiful and practically a wince. She gave out a nervous laugh as a tear slipped down her red, puffy face. He slid out of the bed immediately, and stepped to her. He placed his head so that their foreheads touch with ease, for they were the same height. He laced his fingers with her’s, taking the bags out of her hands. Their eyes closed but she knew exactly what she’d see if they were open, his concerned face loving her. But she kept her eyes closed as she breathed him in. Sansa was obsessed with his aroma. He smelled like safety. He smelled like him. A pack of Malboros, stale coffee, small notes of pine cologne, and ale. He smells just like my Jon. 

Sansa feels as Jon disconnects their foreheads and takes a breath to kiss her on her temple. With the bags, he walks to the kitchen area and starts to unload the items, putting all but the summerwine away. He brought down two cups from the cabinet and poured a glass for her almost up to the top and himself a much smaller one, probably already having a beer before she arrived. 

“I’m so sorry Jon,” Sansa hoarsely confessed, as she began to slide her back down the wall. “I was told I wasn’t supposed to work tonight, I ASKED FOR TONIGHT!” She was sitting against the wall now, in the fetal position. Elbows on knees and hands on face. “I planned to make you are first real meal...in this place...in this FUCKING dump.” Taking off her shoe to throw it out at the apartment, she continued, “I’m so sorry Jon.”

She doesn’t hear him respond, just the glass of the wine bottle being placed in the fridge. The next moment, she felt a slightly chilled glass against her knee. Jon was squatting beside her with their two glasses. She took the one nudged up to her knee, as he sat down beside her. Up against the wall with her, she didn’t know what to say to him. She had been in love with this man for years but these silences killed her. She knew that he would tell her what he was thinking, but she needed words to fill this particular night’s silence. They just sat there and sipped away on sweet wine.

Sansa felt that all she could do was sit there with this man. She knew she couldn’t break his silences. They were something special to him. He needed them or he wouldn’t really talk. Not as though he was challenged or anything of that nature, but his mind was always thinking analytically, a man of reason and logistics. She wished her own actions would reflect something like that. This man had sacrificed everything for her, she would have to allow him his silence. He was all she cared about. This man was the only man that could ever make her feel good. He knew what could make her laugh, how to treat her nosebleeds, what parts of her body were always tense, and how to brush her hair. He knew how to fuck and make love to her in every sense of the terms. He knew how to make her feel safe and loved. Jon just knew everything about her. So Sansa could grace him with her silence.

But it was broken as he said, “I know you worked tonight, and this would be breaking one of your rules, but can I please kiss you Sansa?” He gazed at her like the teenage boy with a crush, he used to be. “I really need to kiss you tonight.”

Jon worked hard to get them out of that Forest Green Bug. He worked a particular job. Security is what he called it. But after Sansa had to pick him up at different locations covered in someone else’s blood at different hours of the day and night, she didn’t think it was your usual night guard job. She saw his face every night and knew she needed to do more. Being a maid at the Gates of the Moon for several weeks, she heard about the lavish nights and always saw its evidence the next morning. The hotel has always been a place for the rich and famous, and still is, but these parties would be held several nights a week to entertain some of the male guests of the hotel. And a few of the females. So taking a chance Sansa inquiring about a job that paid better than housekeeping. Of course Jon forbade it, he wasn’t going to let this be the life of the woman he loved. But she wasn’t going to let him kill himself over something that was inherently her fault. Sansa thought she could become Alayne for these men, then just go back to being Sansa for Jon. Sansa and Alayne were supposed to be different women, but that backfired real quick. Sansa remembered every night what Alayne was forced to do. It was soon after starting that Sansa would have to make rules for herself and Jon. The first one was he could not touch her on a night she had worked. 

So when he asked something so simple as to kiss the woman he loves, she had to hesitate. Jon used to just have to touch her elbow before she would climb on top of him. He would hold her up against the wall, and fuck her until they were sated momentarily. But right now a kiss made her being to feel nauseous. This man had the softest lips and great tongue. She wasn’t disgusted by his perfect kiss but by his perfect kiss being wasted on her, especially on this night.

Tonight is the anniversary of the first night they said they loved each other. Neither of them could remember their first kiss or date. He kissed her when she was in the second grade and he was in the third, but didn’t remember exactly when. And neither could remember or discern their first date or when they started dating. Sansa made him take her out on little dates when she was five and he took her to her first middle school dance. So they made their anniversary a day they both remembered, the day they said I love you. So how could she even think about looking him in the eyes, let alone kiss his parted lips, when she was underneath another man.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” broke her contemplation. Jon would always tell her that she hadn’t mastered the silence yet. The ability to keep one’s thoughts inside until each one needed to be expressed. “Please Sansa, whatever you are trying to crucify yourself for needs to stop, I want to kiss you Sans...” He looked down at the carpet then turned his head up to look her straight in the eyes. Jon’s eyes became more pleading, the grey being so much more hypnotic. “I only have three more hours.”

Sansa looked straightforward again taking another swig of the wine. He had three more hours till he would have to leave her alone in this apartment and risk his life. Besides the pay she can’t rationalize what they do. They both hate what the other does and what they do themselves. The feeling of him never being in bed with her in the morning killed her. Not being able to make her beautiful anymore killed him. Tonight was supposed to be about them, being able to be with each other but all he could get was a couple hours off and she had to be called in. 

Looking at his winsome face, she knew that if he was on board with having tonight, she was too. She grabbed his face almost aggressively and kissed him with the passion she had always had for him. Turning into her kiss, he placed his hands on her temples of head. Jon cradled her head firmly and uninterruptedly. Wrapping her arm around the back of his neck, not being able to hold him tight enough. Seconds later he pulled her face away though. When Sansa opened her eyes she just saw grey. His eyes were beyond beautiful but the color was slowly being eaten away by his growing pupils. She was scared that he changed his mind and couldn’t kiss her after she had entertained someone else just an hour earlier. But Jon was staring at her causing his eyes to dilate. He was hungry for her.

Before he could pull her back into the kiss, she uncurled her arm from behind his head and informed him, “This is as far as I can go. I will kiss you till you’re blue in the face Jon Snow, but that is all I can handle.” 

Pulling her into a few pecks, “There is a Twilight Zone Marathon on, I can’t have you be too distracting.” He smiled with that, which made her let out a snort. She rolled her eyes and kissed him a few more times. 

They had so many shows they tried watching together but Twilight Zone was a classic. They had to watch it whenever one of them found it somewhere on TV. So eventually making their way into their bed, they laid together kissing and enjoying what was left of their night, until duty calls Jon at three in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me comment! I need advice please!!!


End file.
